Wishes of the Seven
by Shiner Shining Bright
Summary: The Seven created the Charter. But there was much for them to do before the Old Kingdom could be what it is now.
1. Chapter 1: Long Live The Charter

With that last bit, the marks were born. Astarael could feel marks in the air, see the marks around her, and marvel at the glowing gold marks. Her marks, marks she helped to create.

"Wow," Ranna murmured quietly. She reached into the air as if she could touch the shapes the put out a golden glow with the presence of the first seven mages. Ranna's whiskers twitched slightly, responding to the magical feel of the air around them. In the dim golden light, Ranna the young woman looked the most beautiful, although long whiskers had sprouted from her smooth, pale cheeks and almost touched her long red hair. She looked slightly like a rabbit, with her long whiskers. Ranna the red rabbit, Astarael thought with amusement.

Ranna's one word hung in the air for a moment until a girl her age could reply.

"To think we were the ones who made it all," Saraneth murmured quietly, her eyes shining with the same proud awe as Ranna's.

"It's truly a wonder," Astarael agreed.

"So, what do you want to call these?" Dyrim spoke up, his voice tinted with worry at the idea of flying, as he had started floating a few inches above the ground. Adding to Dyrim's uncertainties, red feathers had sprouted from his perfectly-toned arms, so he had started to look like a parrot.

"Let's call these marks the Belgaer!" the conceited Belgaer suggested. Dyrim's elder brother, but also identical in appearance, Belgaer had almost complete control over his younger sibling. So Dyrim, the stronger and more talkative of the two brothers, was under the spell of his brother.

"No!" Saraneth blurted out angrily. "We will _not _call these beautiful gold marks the Belgaer!"

That seemed to convince everyone except Ranna and Belgaer, who demanded Saraneth come up with a better name. Ranna could only nod and agree with Belgaer, refusing to speak much until she received a glare from Saraneth.

"But the Belgaer sounds great!" Ranna protested. "Why don't we put the idea to a vote?"

"Wait!" Kibeth blurted out. She rose from a sitting position in an instant and started to pace back and forth. As she moved, the young teenager's short, dark hair bounced with every step.

"Yes?" the old Mosrael asked, not moving from a meditative pose. Although he was both old and frail, his voice rang out. It was always heard by whoever was in the vicinity, and when they heard it, they remembered.

Kibeth ignored him, which Astarael realized must have been difficult. Kibeth's silvery brooch glowed with golden marks as she thought harder for a better name than the Belgaer, and looking at it, Astarael noticed that it looked slightly like collars seen on guard dogs. It gave Kibeth an aura of resentment, because while her brooch seemed to bind her so strongly, her eyes glowed with boundless energy. Once Kibeth turned for her seventh completed lap, she took two steps and then stopped abruptly.

"That's it!" Kibeth exclaimed wildly, her eyes wide with the greatness of her new discovery. After taking a moment to cast a smug look in Belgaer's direction, she announced, "I know what to call these marks!"

"Finally," Yael muttered loudly from his place, bound to a spot high off the ground.

"Quiet, traitor!" Dyrim spat angrily, his gold-stained eyes glaring in Yrael's direction. Those words, although few, said so much, even Astarael was taken aback by the force of Dyrim's raw emotions. Getting the same feeling, Yrael complied.

"Well, Kibeth?" Saraneth prompted, eyes shining. Suddenly, it was no longer a battle of what to call this magic, rather than defeating Belgaer and his intentions.

"We'll call it the Charter!" Kibeth suggested proudly. She placed her hands on her hips decisively and waited for the reactions. There were none.

"Let's vote," Belgaer snarled. "Now remember, Belgaer sounds so pleasing to the ear. Besides, even if you vote this magic the Belgaer, doesn't give me any higher power over it!"

Astarel nodded in acknowledgement, as did the other four that were to vote. Belgaer sounded as if he had really thought out his suggestion.

"Still," Saraneth argued. "The Charter sounds ambiguous, which could be a great thing. If the vote turns out that the Belgaer is to be the name for this magic, then what would happen to you, Belgaer, if one were to use 'the Belgaer' for evil?"

As Saraneth made her argument, Astarael turned it over in her head. It was a great point. If someone were to use that magic to wreak havoc, then Astarael sure wouldn't want her name to be the name of such a magic.

"Well, the way to use it is up to those who use it," Belgaer replied simply. "Beauty, magic, and many other things are in the eyes of the beholder."

_Quite a lot of beauty when Belgaer comes to mind, _Astarael mused internally. But once Belgaer and Kibeth had gone to opposite sides of the hill they stood upon, Saraneth promptly stood up and moved towards Kibeth. Her golden-stained hair glided through the sea of golden marks that populated the air around the seven who created them, and Astarael's mind was suddenly made up. She followed her blonde sister, her dark dress making small swishes, midnight hair standing out in an ocean of gold.

Belgaer began to look worried. Two of the five had not voted for his choice of name. However, his dejected expression became a happier one when Ranna stood up and strode in his direction. As she stood beside him, Ranna cast Belgaer a comforting look, and then slowly took his hand and held it.

Old Mosrael had listened closely to Saraneth's premonition of using this magic for evil. He had always thought of Belgaer as a fool, and chuckled as he thought of a deathly demise for the conceited pinhead. With a crafty expression on his face, he glided over to Belgaer's side, dark thoughts in mind.

Dyrim was the last to choose. On one hand, Belgaer was his older brother, and Dyrim owed him some loyalty. But on the other hand, Saraneth had a certain power over him. He couldn't identify it, but she seemed to be pulling him over.

"Come here," Belgaer encouraged his brother gently. But any words of his were no match for the opposing side.

"Long live the Charter," Saraneth mumbled almost inaudibly. It was not mean to be heard by anyone but herself, but she still spoke those words, and Dyrim still heard them. His face suddenly turned to one of a brainwashed person. He glided, as he was floating slightly, but he joined Saraneth. With that it was decided...almost.

"That's not fair!" Belgaer protested immediately. "Dyrim only picked 'the Charter' because of Saraneth!"

"Well, at least he went for a good reason!" Saraneth scoffed lightly. "Besides, how do you even know he wanted to come to your side?"

"Because I know everything," Belgaer answered. "Besides, saying he went for a good reason is rather conceited."

"Well, at least _I _had no intention of calling the Charter 'the Saraneth', unlike _somebody here_," Saraneth spat, shooting a derogatory glare in Belgaer's direction.

"That's because 'the Saraneth' sounds horrible! Besides, what if it was used for evil?" Belgaer accused.

"Do you honestly believe that 'the Belgaer' sounds any better?" Saraneth snapped. Her eyes widened and seemed to get sharper, like a hawk's. Around her, the glowing marks started to back away from the two that argued, as if they, too, were affronted.

"_Quiet_!" Mosrael yelled loudly. His natural yell coupled with the fact that he was screaming, made it obvious that he was about to get his wish.

"Thank you," Ranna murmured to Mosrael, and then spoke louder. "We've already voted, and as disappointed as I am with the vote, it's four to three. Kibeth gets her wish, and these marks are now to be called the Charter."

"Yes!" Kibeth cheered loudly, gleefully punching the air above her head, not affecting the Charter marks she was punching through.

"Now that that's settled, let's go to sleep," Ranna yawned, cutting Kibeth off. "I'm tired."

"Good idea," Saraneth agreed. She settled down on the grass under her feet, stained gold by the millions of Charter marks that glowed overhead.


	2. Chapter 2: Clairvoyant's Vision

**So...where do we go from here? Here:**

It was really late, Astarael noticed, as she watched the moon in the sky, casting a silvery light on the Seven. The glowing marks were confined to that small space, contrary to Astarael's original prediction that the marks followed their makers. In addition to the first was the Charter surprised Astarael, there was also the fact that the marks around the other six had started to fade.

When Astarael glanced in the direction of the others, she first spotted Saraneth, snoozing comfortably at the foot of the hill. She had the eyes of a hunting hawk even while she slept, eyes that looked like they saw everything in existence, or even not yet in existence. Beside her lay Dyrim, red feathers protruding from his arms. He usually wore shirts that had no sleeves, so the red feathers that stuck out of his arms stood out prominently, especially with his dark shaggy hair and toned skin contrasting it. Farther up the hill slept Kibeth, a very doggish energy radiating from her sleeping form. All she wore was a small, torn dress the same shade of midnight as her hair, which was tied into a miniature ponytail that was not close to reaching her silvery brooch. Kibeth slept a short distance from Mosrael, who appeared to be asleep, but was not. Astarael could see by his breathing that Mosrael was only feigning sleep. Come to think of it, in the few days Astarael had known Mosrael, he had never slept.

Her mind lingered on that fact before her eyes moved to Ranna, sleeping at almost the top of the hill. As she slept, Ranna's fiery hair hung over her face and shoulders. She wore a crimson surcoat, one that had golden swirls running through it in a complicated pattern, giving Ranna a regal look.

Astarael counted them up. Saraneth, Dyrim, Kibeth, Mosrael, and Ranna. That made five, add Astarael and there were six out of seven. But where was Belgaer?

"Still awake?" came the voice that belonged to the missing seventh member.

"Yes," she replied absentmindedly. Astarael had her eyes fixed on the crescent moon that dominated the night sky, and the stars that were scattered through the night. Her legs were crossed, and her hands were in her lap until she picked up one and flicked a strand of hair out of her face. "Why are you up so late?"

"I couldn't sleep, so I went to check on Yrael. Who knows what he could have done to me if he had gotten loose?" Belgaer explained. He took a seat a couple of paces from Astarael and sat on his knees. When Astarael glanced over at him, she noticed a pair of patches of gray skin around Belgaer's eyes. Then she saw his shirt which had been nearly torn to pieces.

"It seemed you've been done some damage nonetheless," Astarael commented lightly, gesturing at his torso.

"It was Yrael," Belgaer explained, giving a slight smirk. "I had to get him really confused before he stopped attacking me."

"Get him confused?" Astarael gasped disbelievingly, raising one eyebrow. "Is that even possible? Yrael's not the easiest person to confuse."

Belgaer nodded with satisfaction. "It is for me, because I'm smarter than him. For me, it only took a couple of questions before he was completely dumbfounded."

"What questions?" Astarael asked eagerly.

"First of all: 'What is the meaning of life?' Second of all: 'Which came first, the chicken or the egg?' Yrael ignored the first question about the meaning of life, but once the chicken question came, Yrael's mouth started watering as he yelled about evolution."

"Well, those questions are confusing," Astarael complimented. "Do you even know the answers?"

"Of course I know the answers!" Belgaer replied indignantly. "I know everything. I also know that you want to know the answers. For that, you must figure out yourself. Even then, wait until we've dealt with Yrael, he's a big problem now."

"I know that!" Astarael snapped.

"Well, I know everything," Belgaer replied simply.

"So?" Astarael retorted.

"So what?"

"So you know everything."

There was a small silence while Belgaer tried to think of a reply before his torn tunic fell apart completely, leaving his chest bare. Astarael could only stare, knowing it was foolish. His biceps were noticeable without being attention-grabbing, while his chest showed his strength without looking unrealistic.

When Belgaer turned to look at what Astarael was staring at, he noticed the torn pieces of tunic around him, and then smirked.

"Oh," he mumbled almost incoherently. When he regained his composure and right mind, he asked, "What are you doing?"

"You had exercised often before we made the Charter?" Astarael murmured.

"Oh, yes. But it was more crafting with hands rather than with the whole body," Belgaer replied.

"Well, it sure doesn't seem like it," Astarael said. Taken by a sudden urge and fascination with Belgaer's beauty, she tentatively reached out, just about to kiss Belgaer, when a scream jolted Astarael out of her thoughts. Instantly recognizable as Saraneth's, Astarael rushed over to her sister, who sounded so horrified.

"Saraneth!" she cried out, leaping to her feet and starting towards the hill that was littered with Charter marks.

"Saraneth, are you alright?" Dyrim blurted out skeptically from his place beside her. When Saraneth started to stir, he rested the palm of his hand behind the back of her hair, careful not to pull any of her spectacularly blonde hair. Mosrael, who had been awake the entire time, sat pensive a short distance away from the pandemonium.

"She's distressed," Belgaer reported in a monotone from a short distance away.

"We know that," Kibeth snapped in annoyance.

"Well, I know everything," Belgaer retorted.

"And I don't care!" Kibeth growled, shaking Saraneth to wake her. It worked.

"What?" Saraneth mumbled, coming to her senses.

"You were screaming," Astarael reported. That seemed to spark something in Saraneth, for she leapt up and glanced around warily.

"They're coming!" Saraneth shrieked, her white gown whistling in the sudden breeze. "They're going to destroy everything...everyone...so much blood!"

The other six were instantly alert, listening to whatever Saraneth had to say. After a moment, the silence broke up into six babbling voices, none very easy to understand.

"Who will destroy everyone?" Dyrim inquired nervously, his eyes wide.

"Where will this attack take place?" Mosrael asked, the only one that was actually discernable among the babble.

Who will be destroyed?" Kibeth wondered.

"What about blood?" Ranna wondered.

"Saraneth, are you sure?" Astarael dared question.

"Yes, I'm sure!" Saraneth answered. "This was more than just a dream! It was different. I know that what I saw will happen. I know that there is going to be an attack on the mainland."

"So we get to the mainland or we'll all be dead," Belgaer concluded.


	3. Chapter 3: To the Mainland

**And here's the third chapter. Everybody clap for it. You don't have to, but it would be nice. Really. It would.**

It took the rest of the night's sailing to reach the mainland. By the time dawn had arrived, the small, make-shift boat built by Kibeth and Belgaer had reached a small peninsula.

As they washed up on shore, Astarael, who had been steering the boat, took her first look at the mainland. She had been raised here, but farther south. It was a place that always reeked of boredom, although it was a center of politics. It was called Anselsier.

Astarael had hated it there, but Saraneth had a different opinion. Saraneth loved it in Anselsier, if only because the men were attractive. But Saraneth was a shallow girl.

"Land ho!" Kibeth called, raising her fist in the air triumphantly. She ran off the ship excitedly, casting a happy glance at the sand, which felt cool around her feet.

"There's no need to be so cheerful about it, Kibeth," remarked Ranna. "We're trying to save the world from total destruction."

"As Saraneth puts it," Belgaer cut in. "How do we even know she's right? If it were up to me, we wouldn't even be here."

"Well, it's not _up _to you," Saraneth retorted. "So be quiet, for once."

"She has a point," Kibeth supplied. "You've been complaining about this on the boat nonstop."

"We were all waiting for you to just shut up," Mosrael agreed.

"Oh, shut up!" Belgaer groaned. "I don't need this."

"Wow, this is really helping!" Astarael, who had not spoken a word, remarked loudly.

"She's right," Dyrim agreed. "So, Saraneth, where was this village you were telling me about on the boat?"

"Right around there," Saraneth answered, pointing to a spot to the west, also along the coast. From where she was, Astarael could spot the faint outline of a small village.

"Then what are we waiting for?" demanded Kibeth. "Let's go!" She turned towards the village, running with a blurring speed. She was soon followed by Ranna, Mosrael, Astarael, then finally the brothers Belgaer and Dyrim. Only once the six had nearly disappeared into the horizon did Saraneth call out, "Wait!"

Due to her uncanny powers over the wills of others, the six were stopped in their tracks. At Saraneth's next command, all six whirled around simultaneously and faced Saraneth. Kibeth had a confused look in her eye, as did all except Belgaer, who looked as if he expected this.

"What's wrong?" Kibeth asked confusedly.

"Come back here," Saraneth instructed, and they all did. "You're all supposed to stay here until there's a vivid flash of color."

"A vivid flash of color?" echoed Kibeth.

"Yes, like a great sunrise, greater than any other," Saraneth envisioned.

"What makes you say we were _supposed _to?" Belgaer questioned skeptically. "Your dream?"

"It wasn't just a dream," Saraneth persisted. "I know it wasn't!"

"So we _are_ basing this off a dream," Belgaer groaned, burying his head in his hands. "Honestly, Astra-"

Belgaer was interrupted by a great flash of color.

"Always complaining," Mosrael sighed.


	4. Chapter 4: The town of Belzaer

**Chapter 4! Running it through: Ranna=young lady-ish, early 20's. Mosrael's an old man. Kibeth's a teenager, about 18-19. Dyrim's in his early 20's. Belgaer, Dyrim's older brother, is 2-3 years older than his little brother. Saraneth, Astarael's little sister, is roughly Ranna and Dyrim's age. Astarael's 3 years older than her sister. Hope that helps!**

"Shut up!' Belgaer groaned loudly. He whirled around to face the five behind him.

"It's been quiet the entire time!" Saraneth snapped. "You're the only one talking!"

"You can't possibly say that," Belgaer shot back. "Especially when you were _just _complaining about your feet being sore from all the walking we've been doing!"

"No, she wasn't," Dyrim piped up. "It was silent besides you."

"Keep it moving!" called Kibeth. "At this rate, we won't be at the place we need to be in three days!"

"Alright!" Belgaer grunted, and started to walk faster.

"I'm tired!" complained Astarael.

"See! I'm not the only one complaining," Belgaer declared triumphantly.

"How could you possibly be tired?" Mosrael wondered incredulously. "I'm a very old man and frankly, I feel fine."

"It does feel nice," Ranna commented. "I like it here."

"Well, then," Astarael mumbled to herself. She glanced up at the sky. The sunrise was over and the sun had completely gone above the horizon. A small village began to get closer and closer, and apparently, they had been noticed. This was apparent after the seven were approached by a pair of men. It was clear by their clothing that the city was not expecting much of an attack anytime soon, or if they were, they were much too far from a place to get supplies. Their mail was barely mail, instead just sacks of stuffed cloth while the sheaths at their waists were much too small to hold anything but a dagger.

As soon as the seven stood within ten feet of the two men, the first of them spoke.

"Who are you and what business do you have here?" he asked.

Dyrim stepped forward. "My name is Dyrim. This is my brother, Belgaer, this is Saraneth, Kibeth, Ranna, Astarael, and the old man is Mosrael. Our business here is that Saraneth had a vision of your town getting attacked tonight."

"Not saying that's likely at all," Belgaer cut in.

"Oh, it's very likely," replied the second man. "The town's been subjected to small raids here and there for over a year now. It was just a matter of time before this enemy staged a full-scale attack."

"Then if it's been a year, then why do you not have war supplies?" wondered Ranna.

"Our ships keep getting attacked on their way over," answered the first man.

"Well, I think we can help you," Saraneth offered. "We'll help you if you let us."

"Thank you so much!" exclaimed the second man. "I'll go inform the Leader. Drin, go gather the villagers."

At that, the first man rushed off, followed closely be the second man. Once they were out of earshot, Belgaer spoke.

"Dyrim, do what I taught you to do on the boat," he instructed his brother. Dyrim instantly began drawing marks in the air, whispering unintelligibly while the other five watched with confusion.

"Now we can speak without being heard by others," Dyrim announced as soon as he was finished.

Saraneth smiled approvingly. "You need to teach me how to do that!" she exclaimed happily.

"It won't work," Belgaer told her. "I tried to cast that spell, but it only works when Dyrim casts it."

"Oh," Saraneth mumbled in disappointment.

"But what did you do?" Ranna asked softly.

"That's Charter magic!" Dyrim explained happily. "We can access the Charter, and with the right spells, we can do almost anything!"

"Wow. Does that mean we can use it to help us in today's battle?" wondered Kibeth.

"We _can_." Belgaer answered. "But now we _must, _because Saraneth told those two blokes we would help them. Why did you do that?"

"Don't be angry," Mosrael scolded him. "I was spoiling for a fight. Idiots blinded by the rage of war-"

Saraneth ignored him. "Why not simply keep the Charter to ourselves and use it for our own selfish gain?" Saraneth spat disbelievingly. We made it to help people! We're the only seven capable of creating the Charter! Why us? So we would be here today and help this village. Besides, I feel this town prospering immensely."

"She's right," Dyrim agreed. "This town seems like it will last."

The argument was interrupted by a sound like the crunching of leaves made by the shoes of the two men that had greeted the seven.

"Thank you for your offer of help," murmured the first man to Saraneth. "The town is grateful."

"What is the name of this town?" asked Kibeth.

"The name changes with each leader," answered the second man. "Each new leader is able to name the town whatever he chooses. At this time, the leader is Bel-zaer, a noble man, so this town is named Bel-zaer."

"Interesting name for the man," commented Dyrim. "Now take us to your leader."

"Of course."


	5. Chapter 5: Battle Approaching

**Well, I did the math. If I want to finish this fic by June 10th, then I've got to update every 3 days. So I'll try to do that.**

The two men led the Seven into the village. Astarael noticed that it was no poor village, probably because it was some sort of fishing town. But villagers looked scared. They glanced back and forth nervously, as if they were going to be attacked at any moment.

They huddled together in small groups as the seven passed, and stared hopefully at an old man at the center of the village. He had silver hair that didn't show up anywhere except his long beard and wore an elegant brown robe that extended to touch the floor. Once the Seven stood across from this old man, he spoke.

"Greetings," murmured the old man. "I am Bel-zaer."

"I'm Saraneth," Saraneth piped up, gesturing to herself, then to the other six. "This is my sister, Astarael; this is Kibeth, Ranna, Mosrael, Dyrim, and his brother, Belgaer."

"Where are you from?" asked Bel-zaer.

"My sister and I from Anselsier," Saraneth answered.

"My brother and I are from Barhedrin," added Dyrim.

"My daughter and I are from Olmond," Mosrael added.

"And I from Sindle," Kibeth spoke lastly.

"Pleased to meet you," replied Bel-zaer. "There was word of an attack today."

"Yes," agreed Saraneth. "I had a vision. It spoke of terrible creatures attacking the mainland. If we fail to defeat them here, we fail to defeat them anywhere."

"I see," mused Bel-zaer. "What makes you think you can help us?"

"Our magic," answered Kibeth."Show him, Dyrim."

"Of course," answered Dyrim. He began to draw Charter symbols in complex pattern. They had no purpose and no intended spell, meant only to intrigue Bel-zaer, and it did its job. Dyrim signaled he had finished by stepping back, putting his hands at his side.

"You see? This is our magic, the Charter."

"I see."

"I know some battle magic, but only us seven can use it. If you'll let us practice," Belgaer offered.

"Please," Saraneth added for emphasis.

"Of course," Bel-zaer answered.

"Is there a place we can practice?" Saraneth wondered.

"Yes," answered an old man. "I own the beauty shop here in Bel-zaer, but when you find it, kindly ask my son to leave."

"Of course. Astarael, could you go?" Belgaer suggested. Astarael nodded. She turned around and ran for the beauty shop, which she assumed would be the shop that didn't smell of fish.

She found it after only a few minutes of searching. Printed on the door was a crude drawing of something Astarael couldn't identify, but as she entered the shop, she saw the drawing was of a flower. An ugly flower it was.

"Hello? Who's there?" a male voice called. His face appeared a moment later. He was tall and handsome, as old as Astarael.

"My name is Astarael. I was asked to ask you to leave," Astarael answered.

The man clasped his hands to his ears. "There's no need to yell!" he groaned loudly.

"I wasn't yelling," Astarael whispered, trying to be quieter.

"Stop it!" he yelled loudly. "Don't speak!"

The man turned and ran out of the shop like his life depended on it. Moments later, the other six Charter mages arrived.

"For once, a place that doesn't smell of fish!" Dyrim exclaimed happily.

"Yes. Astarael, why did you yell at the man?" Belgaer asked skeptically.

"I didn't!" Astarael protested.

"No, you didn't," Belgaer affirmed. "Now...the Charter?"

"Battle magic," Mosrael added. "Marks like these."

**She wasn't yelling. If someone hears Astarael talk, they hear her through their very bones.**


	6. Chapter 6: Battle of Belzaer

**And finally, the battle.**

"You are so annoying!" Saraneth yelled to Belgaer. She slapped her hand to her forehead and began to pace angrily.

"Honestly, Saraneth, you're not a walk in the garden, either!" Belgaer exclaimed. "I wish I could leave you here and go somewhere else!"

"At least I wouldn't have to see your face again!"

"You fight like an old couple!" Astarael commented from behind Saraneth. "Honestly, could you settle this for one moment? We're about to get attacked, for Charter's sake!"

"You've started saying that now, have you, Astarael?" Saraneth snapped, turning on Astarael. "For Charter's sake?"

"Leave her alone!" Belgaer growled.

"_Quiet!_" bellowed Mosrael, and suddenly, the entire town was on its knees.

"I see them!" called an archer. "I see the army!"

As if the argument had never happened, all seven got into their positions, ready for battle. Bel-zaer and the little military men he had stood close to the entrance, ready to guard it at a word.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Astarael murmured to her sister.

"Me, too." replied Saraneth.

"This is different. These aren't any creatures," Astarael explained. "There's something...different about them. They're not the creatures of the Free Magic kind."

"They sure _smell _bad," Kibeth piped up. "And they look horrible."

"Right about that," Mosrael agreed. "They smell like the grave."

"So they're dead?"

"Who knows?"

"Charge!" yelled Bel-zaer, and no words were coherent anymore. He ran forward, followed closely by the rest of the village, armed with whatever they could find. At first, the archers took charge, firing volley after volley of arrows at the approaching creatures. The creatures fell back, seemingly dead, only to rise again, but that wasn't the worst of it. There would be another wave, and the archers were out of arrows.

"Saraneth, Dyrim, man the entrance!" Belgaer ordered. "Ranna, Astarael, stay with me and attack the creatures. Kibeth and Mosrael, protect the villagers!"

"Alright!" replied six simultaneous voices.

Saraneth and Dyrim ran to the place the creatures were pouring through into the village. Kibeth and Mosrael fell back, and Astarael followed Belgaer and Ranna to the center of the creature's mob.

"Battle marks...now!" Dyrim yelled loudly, and the seven all started shooting magic at creatures here and there. It seemed to do the trick more than arrows, but for every fallen creature, there were always two more to replace it.

"Run for the beach!" Bel-zaer ordered the villagers, gesturing frantically to the south. "WE can still move the water!"

The villagers needed no further invitation. They fled for the southern beach cautiously, yet frantically, leaving everything but their weapons behind. Only Bel-zaer and the seven stayed in the village.

"You will not hurt my people!" Bel-zaer bellowed. "If I die, then you foul creatures will all go with me!"

The creature army gave no reply. With only eight targets, it surged forward with more force than before.

"Ranna, look out!" Belgaer yelled just as one creature was about to stab her with its sharp stick. He dove out in front of the creature and parried its claw with his fishing rod, the substitute for a sword. Ranna jumped out of the way violently, and then once she regained her composure, she struck out with her fishing rod and destroyed the creature.

"You just saved my life!" she exclaimed, flashing a smile at Belgaer.

"I did!"

Astarael didn't notice it. She was too focused on the Charter marks she was drawing in the dirt. She surprised herself when she noticed that those were the Charter marks for the four cardinal directions: North, South, East, and West. She was even more surprised to find that as long as she stayed in this diamond, none of the creatures could get to her. Saraneth noticed.

"Hey, Astarael! What is that?" asked Saraneth.

"Some kind of a protection diamond!" answered Astarael.

"That's helping," Saraneth remarked.

"It is!"

Dyrim, who had just noticed Astarael, turned around after destroying one of the creatures.

"Astarael, you were right!"

"About what?"

"These creatures," Dyrim answered, "They are dead. But as many as there are, they're weak. They're like bodies that are no stronger than just a hand!"

"Dead-Hands," Astarael murmured to herself. "That sounds about right."

She was interrupted from her thoughts by Belgaer's call of "This is getting repetitive. We need Mosrael and Kibeth."

"Then let's go to the beach!" Astarael suggested.

"But what of Bel-zaer?"

"He's dead. I didn't see him, but I know he died!"

"You don't know for sure?"

"We don't have time to find out!"

"Alright! Saraneth, Dyrim, Ranna, Astarael, we're joining Kibeth and Mosrael on the beach!"

The Dead-Hands took no notice of the five remaining living beings as they ran to the beach.

The beach, like the two of Bel-zaer, smelled of fish. Used for fishing and moving boats to other lands or cities, the harbor had been built nicely. Even with the town's population huddling on it, the dock held.

Each of the villagers couldn't hide the look of confusion and fear on their faces. Only the son of the beauty shop owner didn't look confused.

"The army's coming!" someone called.

"Make a wave!" yelled the son of the beauty shop owner.

All of a sudden, the villagers began to sing. Their song had no lyrics, consisting of nothing but notes, sung by everyone in unison. The melody was sweet and beautiful, highlighting and praising the water with almost a hundred voices sounding as one. Slowly, the water in the sea began to rise.

"They're getting closer," yelled Dyrim, the only one that had not been captivated by the song. Although they had not joined in song, the other six were entranced by the melody.

Once the army of Dead-Hands was on the beach, the villagers were scared. In the light of the midnight stars, the Dead-Hands looked even more forbidding than in the evening light, and the water clearly refused to rise higher than it already had.

"Let me try something," Saraneth muttered. As the villagers sang their song to the water, Saraneth also began to sing, but she sand a different song. She sang with a deep and commanding voice. With only her voice and her song, she made the wave rise several feet in the air and crash down on the unsuspecting army of Dead-Hands, sparing the villagers and the Seven, seven of which were confused.


	7. Chapter 7: Leader of the Town

**I've reached my tenth fic! Though it's not this. It's Prototype.**

"I can't believe you did that, Saraneth!" Dyrim commented excitedly. The two of them were sitting together on the beach. It was the day after the battle, and after discovering Bel-zaer dead, the villagers were in panic. They feared Astarael's voice, so while she couldn't speak and Mosrael's voice had nearly brought the Dead-Hand army back from the dead, which prevented him from speaking, Belgaer, Ranna, Saraneth, and the beauty shop owner's son were all taking charge of Bel-zaer. The son of the beauty shop owner, whom Dyrim discovered was named Andrith, was the most highly regarded besides Saraneth, Andrith being a member of the village and the most charismatic. Of all people, Andrith was the most likely to become the town next leader. So likely, that immediately after Bel-zaer's funeral at dawn, everyone was interested in Andrith, preparing him for a ceremony, getting him fitted, while he set out to find a wife.

"Me, neither," admitted Saraneth. "The people of Bel-zaer are the only ones that I've ever met that can move water. Now I can, too! I'm not sure how."

"I can guess," Dyrim replied. "The Charter. Each of us do something. Like Mosrael, who never sleeps and brings the dead to Life, or Kibeth, who has unlimited energy, of Belgaer, who can read other's thoughts. I guess you can move water."

"We're all Charter mages!" Saraneth protested. "How come one of us can do things that the other six can't?"

"I don't know. But you'll find out much more about your water ability soon."

"What do you mean?"

"After that amazing defeat last night, Andrith's father is practically sure that you and Andrith with marry!"

"But I've only met him yesterday!" Saraneth protested.

"Well, now that Bel-zaer's dead and Andrith's going to be the next leader, he needs to find a wife, and you're the most powerful in the village. Not to mention the most beautiful," Dyrim added on an impulse.

"You think so?" Saraneth asked skeptically, fussing with her blonde hair.

"Definitely," Dyrim answered. "And so does Andrith."

"Yes, I think so."

Saraneth stood up abruptly, brushing the sand off her white dress and flinging her hair behind her shoulders. Her sandals sank into the ground gratefully.

"I really out to get back to the village," Saraneth told her friend. "Excuse me."

"I'll go with you," Dyrim offered. He leapt up; brushing the sand out of his hair with a clean sweeping motion, then offered his hand to Saraneth.

"If you want to accompany me, then you can," Saraneth replied curtly. She gathered her skirt casually and set off towards the village, followed closely by Dyrim.

"Then I will."

Saraneth and Dyrim's re-entry to the village was greeted by busy smiles. Saraneth and Dyrim looked around at the new sped-up aura of the village.

"You're back!" Kibeth cheered. "The ceremony's going to start soon."

"Oh, okay," Saraneth replied with a nod. "Where-"

"This way," instructed Riselle, Andrith's older sister. She motioned to a spot where Astarael, Mosrael, and Ranna were already sitting. As soon as they saw her looking at them, they waved. They, too, had heard the rumors of Saraneth being married to Andrith, for their wave back was nervous and detached. As Saraneth sat beside the three of them, Ranna let out a wistful sigh.

"We're _the Seven_," she sighed. "We're supposed to be going on marvelous adventures, banishing creatures of evil magic. But now..."

"Yes," Saraneth agreed. "Where's Belgaer?"

Ranna shrugged. Then a loud horn sounded from the center of the village, a deep sound that made all heads turn.

"People of Bel-zaer!" Andrith's voice boomed. "Gather in the center of this village, where the new leader will be announced!"

"It's Andrith, for sure," Kibeth commented, walking over to the four. "I don't understand why they need to make a show about it. But whatever."

Saraneth shrugged, stood up, and strode over to the center of the village, where a few villagers had pulled together a makeshift podium out of crates. He stood there, trying to look official and important, and frankly, it was working. The early afternoon sun lit up his face, casting a proud smile on Andrith's features. Once the villagers were seated or standing around Andrith's podium, he spoke.

"I now present Mirrell, the oldest woman in Bel-zaer."

An older woman hobbled towards Andrith. It was easy to tell that she used to spend much time on a boat in her day, as one leg was replaced by the classic peg leg and the dull hook for her left hand only added to the feeling. Her milk-white hair defied gravity, springing out in all directions and refusing to droop. Saraneth smiled at the thought that anyone who might try to brush Mirrell's hair would lose their brush in its depths.

"Hello, all," Mirrell blubbered. Even from Saraneth's seat, far from Mirrell, she smelled the telltale sign of many years of wisdom. Saraneth's nose wrinkled, and from the corner of her eye, she saw her sister trying to stifle a cough. "I'm sure you've all realized that now that Bel-zaer is dead, we need a new leader. It is my job to announce who."

**NO! Only 879 words! DX**


	8. Chapter 8: Objection

"The next leader of Bel-zaer is Andrith," announced Mirrell. There was an instant roar of applause from other members of the village. Andrith was a popular choice, and many believed that he would do a good job as leader of Bel-zaer. From the bit Saraneth had seen of him, she agreed that he would be a great leader. As soon as Andrith had helped Mirrell to a seat, he went back to the makeshift podium and began to speak.

"I am truly honored. Only yesterday, I never would have imagined any of this: The Army of Night, Bel-zaer dying, the wave, anything. I could never have believed that I would be chosen to lead the village by Mirrell. But I thank you. This is truly an honor."

"As many of you know, there are certain procedures to the initiation," Andrith's father cut in. "For one, a leader can never lead alone. They must be married. I speak for both myself and for Andrith's mother, Sirrell, may she rest in peace, as I make my decision."

"So, Zirr, father to Andrith, who is your choice for your son, Andrith?" Mirrell asked formally.

"My choice is Saraneth of Anselsier, the girl who made the wave."

There were nods and cheers around from those who believed that Saraneth was a wise choice. As Saraneth stood and started towards the podium, Ranna leapt up and enveloped Saraneth in a tight hug.

"Seven days ago, I had never met you," Ranna murmured softly. "But I'm glad I met you. I'm going to miss you."

"Me, too," Saraneth murmured back. Ranna let go, and Saraneth resumed her walk to the podium. Saraneth's dress didn't drag, although the pure white was oddly suited for the occasion. Saraneth felt like a queen, like the Queen of Anselsier, Soraverre, who ruled Anselsier with her King, Bain.

Instantly, the appointment became a wedding. Saraneth stood across from Andrith. Mirrell stood formally behind the two, her stench filling Saraneth's nose.

"Are there any objections to this wonderful match?" Mirrell asked, stressing the word 'wonderful'. There were no answers. Just as Mirrell was about to drone on, a voice sounded loudly from behind one of the houses.

"I have an objection!" the voice growled angrily. The speaker stepped into the light, revealing Belgaer.

X X X X X X X X X X X

Ranna gasped. Belgaer had come to save her? Belgaer constantly complained about Saraneth: how she was so stuck-up, how she talked down to people, how she complained about every little thing, and how annoying that she had so many 'visions'. Why didn't he jump at this opportunity to get rid of Saraneth? While Ranna would miss Saraneth, she didn't think Belgaer should miss his arch-nemesis.

"You're not escaping the Seven yet," Belgaer growled softly to Saraneth, so quiet, Ranna almost didn't hear it.

"Do you realize what you're implying?" Zirr thundered as it sank in that marrying Saraneth to Andrith wouldn't be as easy as he thought.

"I know everything," Belgaer snapped. "I wouldn't want to delay our fight to the death."

"Of course," spat Andrith. "You deserve to die. Or do you just want Saraneth for yourself?"

At that, Saraneth and Belgaer grimaced simultaneously. "I've heard that this town will be prosperous. Better it not be lead by a self-centered idiot," Belgaer shot back.

"I am no idiot!" Andrith roared angrily, running at Belgaer. His face was red with rage, and his eyes bulged widely, making Saraneth jump back in horror. In turn, Belgaer looked worse, meaner and uglier than even Andrith.

The next ten minutes were a whirl of strikes, parries, and sword motion. Sometimes, it seemed like the fight would end, and then it resumed, while other times, there was no clear winner. Frankly, Ranna was surprised that Andrith even knew how to use a sword, living in a fishing village all his life. But Andrith was no match for the best fighter in Barhedrin. After half an hour, the perfume maker's son was whimpering loudly.

"Spare me!" Andrith yelled. "Take your leadership, but spare me!"

"It is a fight to the Death," Belgaer reminded Andrith. Andrith only had time to change expressions as Belgaer stabbed down with his sword. "And I have won."

Zirr gasped, burying his head in his hands. "My son...you killed my son!"

"It's a fight to the death," Belgaer responded.

"Well, you have won this battle," Mirrell cut in. "What is your choice of name for this town?"

"I name it Belisaere, in honor of the fallen Bel-zaer of last night."


End file.
